Addled
by Sini
Summary: Jack has a trying day, but what actually happened?


Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate SG-1, and it does not own me. What a deal.

Summary: Based on a prompt. Jack has a trying day, but what actually happened?

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sam/Jack if you squint _really_ hard. Can be read without any ship.

Prompt by _vala_89_: _One of SG-1 (preferably O'Neill) goes down. A story where you only write three flashes of what happened, leaving some/most of the situations to be filled in by the reader. No character death! Length: 1000 words at the most, they're supposed to be flashes, not novels :) _

***

**Addled**

_by Sini_

***

It was the same old goddamn song I had heard too many times, not that I had ever bothered to keep count.

"Kree!"

God, how I hated that word. It was only four letters, but the glowy-eyed bastards had used it to kill millions, and on this fine day we were supposed to be added to those numbers. We were running towards the tree-line, Carter having taken point only moments ago. There was a small platoon of Jaffa behind us and another one advancing from the side, their clanging metal uniforms echoing in the crisp air.

I had to pinch my eyes closed when the feeling of exhaustion started to set in, the second wave more poignant than the one I had fought off a mile or so ago. Teal'c was holding a steady pace beside me, but even his steps sounded heavier. I forced my eyes open and turned to fire at the troops that were gaining on us, my concentration restored.

"Carter!" I yelled over the deafening gunfire, making my way closer to her. "There's no chance of getting to the gate now, head west!"

A cluster of staff blasts hurtled past us, and we all knew our best chance of getting out had just been demolished.

A fraction of a second later I hear her mumble something that ends with 'Sir' and I know she's on top of things. Daniel reloads his weapon while we change our course making a sharp left turn.

***

I lean against the tree, my entire body in a strange angle, but moving doesn't interest me. The one thing I want at the very moment is for someone to jam a needle full of drugs into my arm. It is getting harder to concentrate and my clothes are cold and sweaty and I'm generally covered in dirt and gore. My vision is shaky, but maybe it's just me trembling – it's hard to tell, and I vaguely note a pair of hands hovering around me, coming to rest on my temple, the figure teetering before me. It has to be Carter, I can make out something blonde. I can't tell if she's speaking, the shock limiting my ability to function. I feel myself falling into sleep out of bone-aching exhaustion. The burning in my shoulder is the last thing that registers before the cloudy sensation takes over.

***

A familiar smell of_ something_ hits me, and my befuddled brain tries to construct a clear thought. Once my line of though gets less curvy, I start with the basics: I know out of experience that opening your eyes is not the best way to go, it only leads to further pain, so I try to wiggle my fingers and am glad to find I can. Further experimentation surprises me, because it does not hurt as much as I imagined – I do remember getting shot. I groan and become acutely aware of the dryness that is enveloping my throat, but it's a small complaint. I decide to go for the big one, face the music, and see where I am.

Please, don't let it be a goa'uld stronghold. Or Ba'al's dungeon.

I squint at the brightness, a feeling all too familiar to me by now. I'm thankful my head is still functioning after dozens of concussions, a fact that amazes the hell out of me. As my sight returns I instinctively try to lean back to avoid the pain it causes, an action made impossible by the firm surface I'm lying on. Then it dawns on me, I'm in the infirmary; I would probably recognize the lights on the ceiling if I was ninety-nine and senile.

"Jack?"

I draw in a breath and try to pin point the speaker. I find myself squinting at Daniel with one eye almost closed, the other only a smidgeon more open.

"Daniel," I croak, my voice gruff after being quiet for so long – how long I have no idea. "What…?" I trail off.

"The Tok'ra memory recall device failed, gave you quite a shock. You've been out for the better part of the day," he explains, and as I frown he picks up a glass of water from beside my hospital bed and brings it to my lips.

The water feels heavenly and suddenly I note that my shoulder is just fine with no sign of a wound. I cough and Daniel replaces the water on the table. I try to move around a bit, eventually managing to hoist myself a bit further up the pillows so that I'm half sitting. Daniel sticks an extra pillow behind my back and I nod my thanks.

"Sam says the malfunction was completely accidental, no one could've detected it beforehand."

As on cue, the Major walks in through the door. She comes to stand by my bedside and places an ever-so-slightly hesitant hand on my arm.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

I glance at her fingers before answering. "Perplexed… Perturbed. Stumped, if you will."

She smiles at me and Daniel chuckles, both obviously thinking I'll be alright.

I perk up and sniff the air – the smell, it's… It's pie! I look to my right and see the piece of chocolaty goodness, a variety I personally demanded the mess hall should always have in stock.

"Teal'c though it might lift your spirits," Daniel chimed.

A small quirk of a smile spreads across my lips without me even noticing.

"And apparently he was right," he concludes with a faint smirk.

I study the plate for a moment before turning to face the pair and speaking up, my quietness eliciting a look of worry from Sam. She recovers quickly as she reads the already familiar look on my face.

"Wait a minute," I grumble, "Who forgot to bring the spoon?"

***

Well, that was my take on the prompt, written quite some time ago. Tell me what you think :)


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